The Real Me
by foxfire222
Summary: So, I got a little high while watching both Sherlock and Doctor Who. This is the result. Greg Lestrade is an ordinary man, or is he? He has a secret he keeps hidden away in a special box. A box full of pictures and a necklace made out of strange animal teeth. What if someone found out his secret? What will happen then? Please let me know what you think. May write a sequel.


Greg Lestrade was a man of many secrets. None of the people who knew him knew he had any. To everyone around him he was an open book. All except for two special people who could just somehow tell he was hiding something. Those two people saw the way he handled his gun. Not like a police officer but like a hunter. They saw how he strapped a knife to his leg under his pants just in case. How sometimes he would use words most people didn't these days in just the right way. And how he sometimes gets confused with technology that everyone else could easily understand. And every time these people spotted something different, they would question Greg about it. And that was making him nervous.

Because Greg Lestrade wasn't who everyone thought he was. In fact, his name was even Greg Lestrade. That was the name his friend had given him when he had had to start a new life to avoid gambling debts. His real name was John Riddell, and he used to be a big game hunter from 1902. Then he had met a man who took him on several adventures before saving him from being killed by mobsters. He smirks as he thinks of his old life, how much it had changed. How he still is a ladies man, but he doesn't show off like he used to. He cares about paperwork and hasn't been hunting in over a decade. His new hobby was hunting after a young man named Sherlock.

He looks to the small box on the coffee table in his living room. In it is something very special, memories. Memories of the best adventures of his life. Adventures full of queens and crazy men with blue boxes. It wasn't long after that that his friend had saved him and traveled to a time when everyone looking for him was dead. The man had bought him a house, made up false papers for a long life, and registered him in the local police force. A few years after that he was transferred to New Scotland Yard in London. A few years later he was climbing the ladder and met a dark haired genius. And ever since then he thought of his past less and less. Until this box was all that was left.

Every few cases he would take it down to be inspired by the memories it brought. And then he would go out and face the world feeling better and ready to chase after whoever got in his way. But once Sherlock had come he had taken the box out less and less. But something tonight had shaken him. He had just said something, he couldn't remember what, that was really old fashioned. This had gotten a frustrated huff from the consulting detective who had said, "Honestly Lestrade. The way you talk some times. One would think you aren't even from this century."

And then he had done something stupid around such a perceptive person. He had winced at the implication. And as luck would have it, the man noticed it. For the rest of the night he had felt Sherlock's eyes burning into his skull, as if trying to read his mind. He had rushed home to his flat and brought out the box, to help pull himself together. But that wasn't really working right now. After Sherlock's comment that night and the memories this box brought up he was having a hard time identifying himself. Was he John or Greg, Riddell or Lestrade. At that moment he realized he didn't really know for sure anymore. The personalities were starting to fuse together and people, well, certain people, had started to notice. And he was sure something bad was going to happen because of it.

So with a great sigh he opened a draw in the side table next to the sofa he was sitting on and brought out a bottle of whiskey. He opened the bottle and took a large swig before coughing a few times and laughing at himself, "Getting rusty, haven't done that in an age."

He spent the next two hours drinking his whiskey and looking through the box. There were a few pictures, each one from a different kind of camera, all taken during his past adventures. He was pretty sure that one of the pictures was made in a way that would not be available for at least another 20 years. It was a sort of hologram photo, and it was one of his favorites. It was a picture of him out on the African plains, the first night he had met his strange friend with the bow tie and the time machine. They had started off drinking one night and the next morning John Riddell had found himself on another planet in the future. One of the photos was a Polaroid of him and his strange friend wearing sunglasses and standing on top of a newly opened casino in Vegas during the sixties. He paused at that one and smiled at the memory of what his friend had managed to do with nothing but a bottle of champagne and 50 dollars as far as girls went.

But under all the photos was one specific item. It had a picture to go with it of course but the item was what really brought all the memories of that day back. He held it up to the dim light, his eyes slightly unfocused from drinking, and took in the sight of a necklace made from many different sizes of sharp and dull teeth. They varied in size, the biggest one being about as bit as a grown man's hand. He remembered Neffy stringing the teeth together for him during the memorable week his friend had allowed them to stay together.

He took another gulp of whiskey before taking the necklace to his room, leaving the box opened on the table. He stumbled to his closet and reached into the far back corner where he kept a hat box. He brought it out and admired the hat inside it. He hadn't worn it since he transferred to London all those years ago. Under the hat was his lucky hunting knife. The blade chipped but still shining and sharp. He put the hat and necklace on and did tricks with his knife. He found himself smiling as he thought of the nights he had spent around a bright campfire learning these tricks.

And then he heard it, a thump from his living room. Someone was in his flat. He gripped the knife in his hand tightly, ready for anything. He may be drunk, but he had survived years following his weird friend and living on the African Savanna. He was still a threat. So he slowly followed the noise to the end of the hall that led into the main room. He could see two shadows that were made by the lamp by his sofa. He was about to strike when one of the silhouettes became recognizable. He let out a frustrated grunt and moan, "Damn it Sherlock, why did you break into my house?"

He turned the corner, a lecture on his lips, and freezes. Sherlock is indeed there, and so is John. And they are looking at his pictures with clear shock. John was even holding the holographic picture and staring at it like it might blow up at any moment. Sherlock is stuck on a picture that Greg/John knows is of him riding something that looks like a giant fish. In the background of that photo is a sky with three moons that is bright green. They look from the pictures to him and back again. He's not really sure what to do now. He's to drunk to really come up with anything. So he improvises and rushes forward. He collects all the photos and puts them back in the box, closing it with a loud snap.

He glares death at the both of them and growls, "That is none of your business. Leave now."

"Lestrade, what is the meaning of all this?" Sherlock asks, voice calm but filled with a sort of curious tension. Watson is still frozen, looking at the box with shock.

"No, you don't get to ask questions. You broke into my flat and went through my things. If anything, I should be asking you questions. Like for starters, why the hell are you to pillocks in my flat at 3 in the morning?" He holds the box tight to his chest, afraid that if he lets it go the pair before him will pounce on it once more

"Because we were worried about you." John says, seeming to come out of his shock, "The way you were acting all night, after Sherlock said one tiny thing, it worried us."

"So you break into my house and go through my things. That is absolute Tommy rot and you know it." He shouts out drunkenly. It's only after Sherlock raises an eyebrow that he notices his slip. He hasn't used that expression in a long time, ever since people gave him funny looks for it, "Oh just fuck off the pair of you and leave me in peace." he turned and headed for his bedroom

He could hear Sherlock behind him. He just had to get to his bedroom and close the door. If he pushed his bed in front of the door he was sure Sherlock wouldn't be able to open it. But just as he reached the door frame Sherlock called out, "What year are you originally from?"

Greg/John froze at that question. He heard Watson scoff but ignored it as he turned slowly for face Sherlock, "What?" he asked with a quiet whisper

"I asked, what year are you from?" Sherlock just looked him square in the eye, "It's a simple question. Clearly you aren't from the present day, or at least you weren't until about 15 years ago. I say 15 years because the person in those photos is younger. And I ask what year because it looks like you get around, judging by those special photos you have and the current rate of technology, those pictures range from cameras from the earliest portable models to something that shouldn't be around for at least another 20 years. And your language tells me you spent a lot of time around the turn of the 20th century. But clearly you didn't stay there for some reason." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and really seemed to look into Greg/John's soul.

He choked slightly and slid to the floor, his knees going weak, "I always thought it might be you who figured it out. Your brother thought something was wrong with me to, but he never cared enough to look very hard. But you, like a dog with a bone you are." as he spoke, his accent changed. A bit less London, more explorer. Sort of rough in the language but smooth in delivery. The way he sounded back when he was living in Africa so many years ago. He let out another choking sound, "You'll either believe me, or think I've gone crackers." he looked up at Sherlock and a now surprised looking John with hope in his eyes, "But I can't really tell who I am anymore anyway, so why not. Wanna hear a story Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded and helped Greg/John off the floor. Watson helped Sherlock lead him back to the couch and sit him down. After a few moments of silence he put the box on the table and opened it. He took out all the pictures and laid them out in the order in which they happened. He pointed to the holographic picture, the first one in the time line, "That's me and the man who changed my life forever. I met him one night after hunting Rhino's all day. He came into the pub and started telling these marvelous stories. I bought us so many drinks we lost count. When I woke up the next morning I was on a planet called Ranta, surrounded by Ice, in the year 2336."

He looked up to see the faces now looking down at him from on the other side of the coffee table filled with pictures. They were looking at him in different ways. John Watson looked a bit frightened and worried, as if he thought Greg/John might have really lost his mind. But Sherlock was just staring at him. He did however have a strange glint in those cold eyes. He motioned for the story to continue so Greg/John continued.

"After that, he told me who and what he was. His name was simply The Doctor. He was an alien life form called a Time Lord. He had this ship called a TARDIS, Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. It traveled to any point in time anywhere in the universe. And over the next 5 years of my life he showed me everywhere I could have dreamed of." he pointed to a picture somewhere in the middle. He and The Doctor were standing on a mountain, all smiles, covered in bruises and bloody scraps. They were also covered in what appeared to be soot of some kind, "This here was a great one. Took me to the planet Jimbex in the year 1988. We stopped a group of fanatics from burning down the Royal Palace." he gave a wicked grin up at the pair before him, "The princess was very eager to show us how much she appreciated it."

John looked a bit more stunned now, as well as a bit doubtful but slightly impressed. Whether that meant he believed in the story a little bit or just thought it was really good, had yet to be determined. But Sherlock was now looking fascinated, as if he had found a new puzzle. The Consulting Detective leaned over and pointed at another picture, the last one of the lot, "And what about this one here?"

"Sherlock, you can't be serious." John whispered a bit to loud, "Don't encourage him. Can't you see it's bad enough already?"

"I'm not crazy John, I swear it." Greg/John argued

"He may not believe you, but I do." Sherlock said simply, "Do you want to know why?"

"Please, do tell." Greg/John replied with a sound halfway between and giggle and a whimper. His whole life was falling down around him, and he had no way to stop it. If even one of them refused to believe him, and they told anyone, he could be fired and committed for the rest of his life.

"That necklace your wearing, it's wrong." Sherlock said simply

"What do you mean it's wrong?" He asked in a huff. Neffy had spent hours on it and he was offended in her honor, "A very special woman made this for me."

"I can tell, from the way you stroke it when your thinking deeply. But that is not what I meant. I meant the teeth themselves are wrong." Sherlock pointed at them, "Most people would just assume that those are animal teeth, but I know better. I've studied fossils extensively for an experiment, so I know two things about those teeth that most people wouldn't. The first being that they are each teeth from a different type of dinosaur. That in itself is impressive given the variety. But the thing that makes it even more wrong, is the age of those teeth. Because they are, still in fact, teeth and not fossils. This can only mean that you collected them from a living source. I'd say some time in the past 20 years or so." he once again pointed at the last picture, "So I'll ask again. What can you tell me about this one?"

He looked down at the photo. It was a favorite of his, second only to that first picture. It's of the whole gang the Doctor had put together to explore a ship filled with dinosaurs. He was standing there, one arm around the waist of a beautiful woman dressed like she was from Ancient Egypt. They were both holding some kind of weird looking gun and smiling. On Riddell's other side was the Doctor and an older gentleman. The older man was related to the young man on the young woman's other side. That younger man had his arm around a red head of the same age as him who were both wearing wedding rings. But the really strange thing about the picture was the pile of knocked out dinosaur looking creatures right in front of their smiling faces.

"Oh, that was my second favorite. Last time we every really went on an adventure. See that girl there?" he pointed at the woman he had his arm around, "That's Queen Nefertiti, Lady of the Two Lands. Boy, she was a fire cracker, I can tell you that." he chuckled, "I spent a wonderful week with her in a tent in Africa. Of course that was after we saved a space ship full of dinosaurs from getting blown up by the future Earth's defense systems. It's a really long story, I'll tell you over a pint some time if I don't get locked up first." He pointed at the necklace, "I collected teeth from every kind of dinosaur I could find on that ship before we left. Neffy made this for me during out time together."

John made a sort of choking sound then and managed to get out one word, "Neffy?"

Greg/John chuckled, "Yeah, nice nickname isn't it. The Doctor came up with it." he looked at Sherlock who seemed to be vibrating with excitement, "You alright there Sherlock?"

"I am ecstatic." he burst out as he did some strange little jump and turn, much like a child, "Oh, a time traveler, this is the most exciting thing ever. Why didn't I see it sooner?"

"Because you weren't supposed to." Snapped Greg/John, "No one was. The Doctor used his influence and knowledge to carve me a life out during this time period. If it weren't for him I would have died 15 years ago in an alley, killed by a bunch of soar debt collectors with clubs. And I've been trying to live my life as best I can with what he gave me."

"Then why are you sitting in the dark wearing things that shouldn't even exist and looking at these photos?" Sherlock questioned

"Because I miss it." He admitted, "I miss being who I used to be. Running around, having adventures. Hunting wild game across Africa and traveling through time with a mad alien friend. I miss the rush, the thrill, the feeling of blood thickening in my veins." he sighs and leans back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling, "And it reminds me of the person who inspired me to be a better man."

The room was silent for several minutes. Greg/John didn't speak, waiting for either someone to call the men in white coats, or for Sherlock to ask more questions. So he was surprised when it was in fact John Watson who broke the silence, "What was your name?"

Greg/John snapped his head back into place, trying to ignore the affect it had on his alcohol fueled brain, and stared at John Watson in shock, "What?"

"What was your name, you know, before you came here?" he looked genuinely curious before his eyes widened slightly and he said, "Unless you kept your old name."

"Um, no, I didn't. Greg Lestrade isn't the name I was born with, it's just the man I've become." Greg/John said with slight hesitance, "I was once know as John Riddell, greatest African Big Game Hunter during the turn of the 20the century." he sat up a bit straighter, as if pulling on a familiar shell and gave a grin that was in some of the photos, "Shame I never made it to the history books, I was a sodding good sportsman."

"Impressive." John said with a small smile, "If you can call killing defenseless creatures that. I'm surprised you missed the history books."

"Oh God, you sound like Amy Pond now." he pointed at the young red haired girl, "She said the same thing almost."

"Then she's a smart girl." John said with a joking grin

It was that grin and the joking that made him relax. He now knew that John believed him, and so did Sherlock. More then likely he would be safe now. And he even had people to talk to about it all, take some of the weight off his shoulder. He chuckled a bit and leaned forward, "Oh, you have no idea how smart. If she hadn't been married and Neffy hadn't been there I would have gone after her. Nothing more impressive then a woman who knows how to handle a big gun."

He spent the rest of the early morning telling John and Sherlock about his time on the ship with the dinosaurs. By the end of it everyone was in a good mood. Even Sherlock had a smile on his face. It had become a bit tense when he told about how the Doctor had sent the mad space black marketer to his death. But when he reminded the pair that the man had committed genocide the tension eased.

Over the next several months he shared a lot with the pair. Every few days they would come to his flat and pick a picture for Greg/John to tell a story about. When they were at his house they called him Riddell. And when on cases they called him Lestrade. It helped him tell the difference between his old and new selves again. Between the memories of old and all the new ones he had made.

So he shouldn't have been surprised when he gets a text from Sherlock. It was just four words. But they were words that both excited and frightened him at the same time. They filled him with hope and apprehension. Because the four words could only mean one of two things. Either his friend had come to visit, or something very bad was about to happen.

_Your Doctor is here – SH_

He was across town in record time. He practically flew up the stairs of 221B Baker street and paused at the door to the consulting detective's flat. He took a deep breath and opened the door slowly. And there, sitting on the couch and drinking a cup of tea, was a very familiar figure. He hadn't aged a single day, of course. And he was still wearing the same tweed jacket and burgundy bow tie. When he set his eyes on Greg/John his face became incredibly surprised. And then a smile split the man's face and he bounded to his feet.

"Riddell, is that you?" he asked in an excited voice as he crossed the room in a few sweeping steps and pulled Greg/John into a tight hug, "Oh, isn't this a surprise."

"Surprise? You mean you didn't know I was here?" He was shocked at that. The Doctor always seemed to find him on purpose. How did you find someone by accident

"No, I wasn't. I mean, it's great to see you and everything, but I didn't know you were here. I was in the neighborhood to have lunch with a friend and these two men just came up to me. They said they knew who I was and wanted to talk to me. Of course, I was thrilled. I always love to talk to fans, especially the ones who don't want to dissect me to figure out how I work." He said all this with a smile as he led Greg/John over to the couch. Before he could sit down however the Doctor seemed to realize something and dragged him toward the kitchen, "Oh, you have to meet Clara. You'll love her."

Greg/John took in the girl who was in the kitchen watching Sherlock do an experiment on a severed finger while John was making tea. She was young and beautiful with long brown hair and a tight skirt. She was all smiles as she watched Sherlock add some sort of chemical to the finger and it started to bubble, "Oh, that is clever." she commented

"What happened to Amy and Rory? I thought they were your 'Ponds'?" Greg/John asked

The Doctor's face became sad for a moment before he said, "They're gone now."

Greg/John felt his chest tighten, "I'm sorry Doctor. I really liked them."

The Doctor sighed, "So did I." He gave a sad looking smile, "But they lived full lives and grew old together, just as it should be." his smile turned into a cheeky grin, "Best in-laws anyone could every ask for."

He raised his eyebrows in shock, "Oh, this story I've got to hear."

So the rest of the day and night was spent talking about what Greg/John's life was like now. What he did with Sherlock and John. The Doctor had been absolutely thrilled when hearing it, saying that history may have forgotten John Riddell, but they would remember Greg Lestrade. The Doctor in return told many stories, including how he married River and how she had been related to the Ponds. And the stories Clara told about her time with the Doctor were amazing as well. It was only as the sun was rising that Sherlock asked a loaded question. Truly, Greg/John was surprised he had been able to hold off asking for so long.

"Can I see your time machine?"

Greg/John met the Doctor's eyes and they both grinned knowingly at each other, "What do you say Riddell? Feel up to one last trip?"

He let out a loud laugh and nodded, "I thought you'd never ask."

And a few days later, he was placing a new picture in with his collection. It was of him, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Clara, and the Doctor. They were all covered in dirt and green goo. They were all smiling, even Sherlock, and holding onto each others shoulders. It was his new favorite picture. And he held out hope that the Doctor would come back one day and they could do it all over again.

AN: I have to say, as far as writing while under the influence of pot goes, I think I did rather well. Let me know what you think. I may even write a squeal one day, who knows.


End file.
